A thru-hike on the Continental Divide Trail is a humbling experience. Ask anyone who has gone the distance (140 people reported in 2024; about 1,400 since 1973) and they’ll tell you that without hesitation. The trek was far and away the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, requiring every ounce of mental and physical strength I could muster.

Re-entry into regular life since finishing on Sept. 23 has not been easy. And I discovered anew that post-trail depression is real. It didn’t help that I had a nightmarish three-day ordeal getting from Alberta home to Maine (who knew you couldn’t fly from Canada to the U.S. using a passport card? Duh!). And just a few days after getting back, I got whacked really hard by COVID.

Just like that, I went from full speed to full stop, 20 miles a day to not many, if any. It took a month to get well and regain my energy. Movement was key to defeating the malaise. And only recently was I able to properly reflect on the CDT and the incredible scenery, solitude, simplicity, support, and stress and strain over the course of six months and 2,600 miles.

The Continental Divide National Scenic Trail (CDT) covers 3,028 miles between the U.S. border with Chihuahua, Mexico and the border with Alberta, Canada.

The CDT threads through some amazing backcountry, places that most people will never get to see. Standouts for me included the following: Bootheel and the Gila National Forest in New Mexico; Colorado’s Collegiate Peaks and Mount Zirkel wilderness areas; the Great Divide Basin and Wind River Range in Wyoming; and Montana’s Bob Marshall Wilderness and Glacier National Park.

For days and weeks on end, I walked and camped alone. I fell in love with the solitude. I grew crazily comfortable with it. After all, there just aren’t a lot of people out there on the CDT. But when I did encounter other hikers, I was always thrilled and happy to have some company for a brief moment or two, or for a few treasured days and nights.

The simplicity of the daily routine was addictive. Food, shelter, clothing – the basic necessities – they’re all on your back, wherever you go. Wake, eat, break camp. Walk, eat, walk, eat. Breathe deep. Look around a lot. Think about things, or don’t. Walk and eat some more. Pitch camp, eat, sleep. Repeat until one day you run out of trail. The CDT is raw freedom.

Every long-distance hiker needs support to be successful. I was blessed with the assistance of my wife, Fran, who tagged along by vehicle and met me regularly nearly to the end. There were also many beautiful trail angels along the trail, as well as on the roads and in trail towns. My heart is full of their kindness, generosity and laughter.

Most every CDT hiker, regardless of age, gets worn down by the long journey. Colorado, with its high elevation and huge elevation gains, is the toughest part. You are exposed to some different elements, inlcuding snow. In the end, though, it’s the cumulative effect of the daily bodily abuse that has tired hikers wobbling to the finish line.

Woodrow Wilson Sayre, author of the 1964 book, “Four Against Everest,” wrote of mountain climbing, risk and pushing one’s limits: “… This is not to say that you deliberately try something you know you can’t do. But you do deliberately try something which you are not sure you can do.” So it was with the CDT. I’m glad I did it, but the experience tested my limits like nothing else could.

As for the Triple Crown thing, well, it wasn’t part of the original plan. The Appalachian Trail in 2015 was supposed to be a one-and-done adventure, but even before I was through, I had already begun scheming and dreaming of another long hike. I tackled the Pacific Crest Trail in 2019, and at that point decided I couldn’t very well leave the CDT on the table.

What’s next? Something more civilized, if you will. Like a pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago, from Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port in France, over the Pyrenees, across the north of Spain to Santiago de Compostella, and onto the Atlantic Ocean. I’m allowing myself six leisurely weeks next April and May to saunter the 550-mile trek. I can’t wait.

Carey Kish of Mount Desert Island is the author of Beer Hiking New England, AMC’s Best Day Hikes Along the Maine Coast, and the AMC Maine Mountain Guide. Follow more of Carey’s adventures on Facebook and on Instagram @careykish.